


Really

by deathburrito (immbc)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x09 The Things We Left Behind, Angst, Cynicism, Deleted Scene, Gen, Hurt!Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sam POV, Shock, Vomiting, hopelessness, hurt!Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3238499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immbc/pseuds/deathburrito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deleted scene to 10x09 The Things We Left Behind of how Sam deals with Dean after finding him kneeling in between all his murders. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>"He opens the door, and the squeaky noise is so comforting Sam wishes he could just open and close the door for the next two days. He raises instead, circles the car and opens the passenger door, blocking out the squeak this time."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Really

He can hear the steady rhythm of Dean’s watch counting the seconds. It’s too quiet and he pinches Dean’s legs again to remember him to breath. He takes a swallow gulp of air, and Sam doubts that’s even enough oxygen to keep him alive. He doesn’t say anything, anyway.

The car feels too small but at the same time he can’t reach Dean. He feels ridiculously confined; like he is one of those long-legged clowns with useless huge shoes that drives a stupidly small car and no one can’t really figure out how they fit that poor man inside there to being with, except this isn’t funny. And he still can’t reach Dean.

He adventures a glance to his brother, who’s still looking at the same exact point he was looking when he found him knelt in the middle of his own crime. He is too far. He can’t reach.

He parks the Impala in front of the motel room, as close to the door as he can. He shuts down the engine and he can hear again the steady rhythm of Dean’s watch counting the seconds.

He opens the door, and the squeaky noise is so comforting Sam wishes he could just open and close the door for the next two days. He raises instead, circles the car and opens the passenger door, blocking out the squeak this time.

Dean’s still focused on some spot back there in the middle of the massacre.

Sam wishes Cas was still around to help him manhandle his brother inside the motel room, but at the same time he is glad he asked him to go, he doesn’t have time to deal with anyone but Dean right now.

Sam picks Dean’s legs by his knees and puts them out of the car, turning his body around in the process. Dean is too far gone, but Sam managed making him walk to the car before; he wishes he has the same luck right now.

He sighs and bends his knees so he can raise his brother without hurting his back. He thinks he must look like one of those women in their forties with fake smiles and yoga pants that teach others how to pick up weight correctly in health shows. Dean mocks them every time.

He picks his brother up by his armpits and pulls him up, steadying him when he is completely standing.

‘There you go, buddy.’

Dean seems to pick up on the change of altitude and is able to stand by himself. Dean’s face is still dirty with someone’s dry blood and sweat but he is not radiating any heat at all, which is rather worrying, considering his brother is a furnace.

He walks him to the room, guiding him by his elbow. It’s slow and clumsy but they make it at once without stopping and Sam walks Dean directly into the tiny bathroom and sits him on the toilet lid.

He thinks of making a quick trip to the trunk and retrieve their stuff but there’s nothing he really needs from there right now. He closes the entrance door, secures it gingerly and goes back to Dean. The main room is completely dark and the only light is coming from the bathroom. Dean sits there, still staring and he’s started to shake now. Sam thinks everything is kind of sad. He wants to cry, really.

He sighs again, and closes his eyes for two seconds before walking the short distance between the entrance and the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Before taking his jacket and shoes off, he starts running a bath. While the tub fills, he starts undressing his brother. Dean is starting to be in the side of ‘violently shaking’ now and it’s hard to keep him steady. When the rough jacked rubs harshly against his bloodied knuckles a soft whine escapes past Dean’s lips, but he is still staring somewhere behind Sam, as if his brother is made of glass.

Getting Dean inside the bath tub is basically emotionally exhausting. Sam is so glad Dean will most likely not remember any of this, because really, having to treat your 35-year-old brother like an invalid elderly is on Sam Winchester’s top list of _‘Things I Hope I Never Have to Do Again’_.

Once Dean’s gingerly seated on the bathtub, water just covering somewhere under his nipples, Sam takes a moment to recompose himself again. Dean’s moved from the ‘violently shaking’ stage to the ‘twitching’ one. His legs make funny jumps that splash water all over the floor and his hands won’t stop jerking. He is still staring.

Sam cups some water in his right hand and carefully raises it to Dean’s head and lets it wash down his brother’s skull. His left hand is in the back of his neck, holding him gently. After repeating the process several times, Sam’s concludes the blood is too dry and he will have to rub it off. Awesome.

He decides to clean Dean’s face first, then his raw knuckles and finally his left knee, where the jean burnt the skin when Dean fell to his knees earlier. He will wash Dean’s hair after all that, because he know his brother loves getting his hair washed by others and if any of the previous cleaning causes him any stress or pain, a good massage on his scalp will settle him down again.

The last thing Sam’s wants and needs is Dean coming back in a violent way.

So he starts by his face and Dean doesn’t even blink. When he is finished with the knuckles, Dean gasps and Sam stops dead. Something clicks on his brother’s face and he frowns. Shit. He looks extremely distressed and the violent shaking comes back again, this time with a terrifying hoarse chant of no’s to complete the package. Sam tries to shush him, but he still can’t reach Dean.

Screw the fucking knee burn. Sam moves quickly for the shampoo, or gel, who the fuck cares, and squeezes way too much of it on his hand and starts rubbing it on his brother’s scalp. Sam’s hands are shaking and a bitter laugh builds on his throat. It dies down there, anyway. He tries his best to apply the perfect pressure on his brother’s skull but Dean is still saying no.

Sam insists, not really knowing what else to do, and keeps going for a couple of minutes. It works, barely. But it works. Dean’s still shaking, but not so much and he is quiet again. Sam retrieves his soapy hands and rests them on the tub’s edge, breathing deep to steady his heart rate.

He can’t do this, but he has to.

He starts rinsing his brother hair with the cupped-hand technique again. When there’s no trace of soap any more, Sam decides it’s good enough and starts emptying the bath tub. He pulls his brother up by his armpits again, and this time Dean’s legs doesn’t really feel like cooperating. Sam understands them, to be honest.

Miraculously, Sam gets Dean wrapped with towels and sat on the toilet lid again. He rushes outside the bathroom, where fresh chilly air meets him. He gets the first jammies pants he finds and some random shirt. When he dresses Dean on them he realizes those clothes are, in fact, his, but at this point, Sam couldn’t give less of a shit.

For some reason he still can’t recall, he decides to comb his brother’s hair. He gets lost in the steady motion of plastering Dean’s wet locks to his scalp, only so they spike out again after half a minute. He stops when Dean calls for him.

Sam lowers to his knees so his face is on the same level as Dean’s.

‘Hey, buddy.’ Sam carefully moves his hand to Dean’s cheek. His brother skin is icy cold. ‘You all right in there?’ He tries to make Dean concentrate on his face, putting it right across his point of focus.

‘Sam.’ Dean announces again. His voice is so raw and catches even if Sam’s name only has three letters and there’s barely time to add emotion to it before you’re finished saying it.

‘Yes, Dean.’ Sam selfishly thinks they should name him a Saint for his patience.

Dean moves his hand up really slowly until he reaches Sam’s forearm. Sam smiles softly more to his brother’s comfort than his, because he doesn’t really feel like smiling, at all.

‘I didn’t mean to.’ Dean says, again. His voice catches and pitches and he frowns and his breathing picks up and his eyes water. Sam shushes him and places his free hand on his knee and shakes it slightly.

‘I know, Dean.’ He feels like saying ‘ _It’s okay, Dean.’_ but it really is not. Somehow, though, his words calm Dean down again. ‘Do you feel like moving to bed for a while? Huh?’

Dean seems to have zoned out again but he nods slightly. Sam repeats for the umpteenth time today the procedure of getting his brother from sitting to standing and guiding him to their new destination, this time, bed.

Walking seems to bring Dean closer to the conscious side of the world. When Sam sits him down, Dean’s eyes are studying his surroundings, still somehow distant, but the most focused they’ve been since they got out of that house.

Sam leaves him there to go get some water and painkillers. That takes him maximum one minute. But when he is back Dean is shivering and he is somehow even paler, still, he acknowledges Sam’s presence.

And Sam knows what comes next. Dean swallows hard and softly whines and within ten seconds he is retching on the room’s only bin, vomiting his empty stomach there.

When he is done, he is crying, saliva dropping down his chin and the shaking is nearly uncontrollable. Sam really wants to cry too. Instead he takes the bin from Dean’s hands and cleans his brother’s face with the hem of his shirt. It’s not hygienic at all, considering he still hasn’t changed but, really, he wants to be finished with this as fast as possible.

‘S’mmy, m’cold.’ Dean clatters through his teeth. Sam rubs him sympathetically and brings the glass full of water to his lips.

‘Drink this, please.’ Sam cues him. Dean takes five seconds too long to respond, but he obeys nonetheless. He takes some sips before Sam slips one pill between his lips. ‘Swallow.’ He commands and Dean obeys again. They repeat the process with the second pill. Sam’s medicating him because he knows he will have a terrible headache tomorrow, a part from being achy and exhausted all over. It is more prevention (that won’t work) than anything else.

After that, he pushes him down gently and puts his legs on top of the bed, covering him with all the sheets and blankets of the room. He pats his legs twice and disappears into the bathroom.

He gently closes the door and takes the step between it and the sink. He leans against it and closes his eyes and sighs again. He is shaking so hard, he could drop down any time now. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep it together. After what Sam’s considers way too many seconds to recollect himself, he opens the tap and washes his face. He undresses and walks out of the bathroom only in boxers to realize that they only own one set of sleeping clothes each so he’s going to have to wear Dean’s, which are too short and tight for him. He looks ridiculous, really.


End file.
